8. Flirting with Hercules

Present day

In spite of her outward cool, her heart had been racinging at 120 beats a minute, and that was before the action even remotely began.  Rebecca was doing nothing more nerve racking and strenuous than merely grooming Fire and Brimstone.  The horse himself was quivering in excitement, partly due to his nerve racking experiences under Rebecca the last few days, partly his own inner expectations of more dangers to come, and partly in empathy with Rebecca.

She heard footstep approaching from behind, but thinking that it was Travis, she refrained from turning around.  Anything she did caused by him would empower him, and she for some reason did not want to eimpart any power unto him in the least.

"Good morning, Rebecca."

She turned at once.  It was not Travis, but Jake Hawthorn.

She straightened up, brushed a strand of blonde hair from her eyes, and forced a smile.  "Oh, hi.  Good morning, Jake."

"Listen, uh, just wanna tell you that there are no hard feelings."

"Oh?  I didn't know that there were any bad feelings before."

"Well, put it this way.  When it comes to winning or losing money, there are always feeling."

"Then, let's just say that were feelings involved, mine were good, and still are."

"I'm glad to hear this, Rebecca, and let me add that they are about to get even better."

"Wow, I'm not sure I could handle any more excitement."

"You will have an audience at your rhino hunt today."

"And why should my feelings improve because of this?”

“Am I mistaken to say that you want the whole world to know about your exploits? The hunting magazines, radio talkshow, TV interviews... Now I'm offering you a live audience.”

“Sorry, but I find this a rude intrusion into my privacy.  I have in mind to hunt Hercules ON MY OWN.  I want to be the only living human being within the horizon centered upon Hercules and me.  Even Travis will be dismissed,"

"That would be illegal,”

“So sue me already.”

“Anyway, I'm afraid that to cancel on your audience will not be possible."

"And why not?"

"I have already promised it to my new client."

"To gawk at me while I consummate my love affair with Hercules?  Not a chance.  That arrangement is between you and your client.  It has nothing to do with me.  So, please cancel it."

"As I said, Rebecca, that will not be possible."

"And as I asked before, why not?"

"He is the president of the United States."

"So?"

"So, the president of the United States will be your captive audience."

"Cancel it, or I will cancel the hunt, and take its monetary equivalent."

Jake was all but speechless.

"I'll confide in you something that I'm sure you'll understand.  Hunting is a intimate sexual experience for me.  Would you want to be watched when you're having sex with your wife?"

"Come on, Rebecca, you're getting a bit personal."

"And you think telling me that I have to perform a sexual act in front of a total stranger, even one with a big - ego, is not personal?"

"Look, uh, just go through with this, please."

"Sorry.  All of a sudden, I'm not feeling well.  I'll postpone the hunt indefinitely - till I feel better."

"Alright, listen, you go and take down Hercules today, and I will pay you 10% of the president's fee."

"Of what?"

"Of his own rhino."

"Deal."  She extended her hand without hesitation, and Jake shook it like an automaton. “In writing please.”

“You got a piece of paper and a pen?”

After she had taken the IOU from Hawthorn, she said impishly, “Actually, I would have done it for free. You're right, I am an exhibitionist, and a narcissist to boot. There is nothing more arousing than to perform a sexual act for the sexiest man in the world.”

9. Undercover in Shimonoseki, Japan

UNDERCOVER IN SHIMONOSEKI, JAPAN

by Mark Lee
2009

The reason for me to write this blog is to challenge and motivate new activists to outdo me, which should not be all that difficult once they set their minds to it. Also, it is to detail an operation, to whatever extent it can be told in the context of its being undercover, as an example of how to deal with tough situations. Finally, Shimonoseki is a key city and port in Japanese whaling, and this piece should give a backgrounder to anyone interested in going there for any reason.

In 2004, I devised a method of communication with dolphins by which they could be alerted to danger, thereby avoiding it. To test it, I went to Taiji, Japan, solo but supported by a major animal protection group, to perform a series of nocturnal experiments which required me to bodily enter the cold waters of “The Cove” where dolphins were seasonally captured and slaughtered by the thousands every year. The experiment was successful. In the 2-week period in November during which the experiment was conducted, no dolphins were captured or killed. Taiji's own records should support this.

In 2005, I returned to Taiji with two activists to seek a more automated and permanent solution than the labor-intensive and dangerous one requiring an on site operator. That one was an adventure of another kind, and another story. The story here is my week-long stint in another Japanese city, with another activist.

The name of this activist is Bruce Forester, who also funded this mission. He is also a good friend of mine, who later rescued me from a very tight spot when I was stranded in Osaka, and that is yet another story.

The objective of this operation was to board the mother ship of the Japanese Antarctic whaling fleet for a certain purpose which I am not at liberty to reveal.

We landed in the Narita international airport in Tokyo on November 1. The first thing to do was to locate the fleet. Even before we got the rental car, we had been stumped as to which city to go to. Now with the steering wheel of the rental car in my grasp, I needed to know which way to turn it. The fleet could assemble at any major seaport, or even a minor one - Yokohama, Shizuoka, Osaka, Kobe, Hiroshima, Shimonoseki, Nagasaki, in increasing distance from Tokyo, and of course Tokyo itself. The whaling fleet usually left Japan in early November, so we didn't exactly have all the time in the world to find it.

Almost on a hunch, with little intel support, I steered a direct course for the second farthest one from Tokyo short of Nagasaki - Shimonoseki, Yamaguchi Prefecture - flying distance to/from Tokyo 510 miles (820 km), driving distance about 600 miles (~1000km).

Throughout the long drive, I could not shake the doubt that my hunch could be wrong. What then? Shimonoseki was at the tail end of Japan, even Taiji was closer to Tokyo. What was Plan B? Nagasaki would be my guess. Why? It is the southwestern-most port of Japan, and the fleet would be heading south. But Shimonoseki did have a history of being a whaling port.

Japanese highways, and even the international airport which see much tourist traffic, are not exactly foreigner-friendly. The signage is all in Japanese. Even the in-dash GPS of the rental car was in Japanese only, with no language option. Good thing that way-back-when in history, Japan did not have a written language of its own, and borrowed heavily from the Chinese. So being of Chinese extraction and upbringing, I could read some of the Japanese characters, just enough to get by. Were Bruce on his own, he could not have gone far before getting utterly lost.

Anyway, we made it to Shimonoseki in good time, and arrived in the late evening. We picked a hotel in downtown near the waterfront and bedded down for the night. The next morning, I looked out the window, and for a moment almost thought that I was back in Vancouver, what with an ocean inlet in front, and mountains on the opposite shore.

Bruce and I went for a walk on the water front and, except for the inner tension, it was like a walk in the park. But we noticed that Shimonoseki, even more so than Tokyo, was all Japanese. There was not another Caucasian person in sight the whole day we walked around. Bruce of course stuck out like a sore thumb, and received much unwanted attention, though the Japanese people were more discrete than some others I've seen. Being Oriental I could dissolve into a crowd, as long as I bore in mind the advice I've received to not advertize my birth origin, at pain of some kind of discrimination or even abuse. 
 

There was a small dock protruding into the water and we walked out to its tip to photograph the surroundings. When we were going back to our rental car, there was a uniformed officer standing there waiting for us. There was no preamble. Bruce and I were questioned about why we were taking pictures. I said I was a tourist, smiling inwardly that taking pictures was what Japanese tourists were notorious for. He did not seem convinced, and asked what we felt about whaling. We just looked at each other innocently and shrugged. He seemed more interested in Bruce, who stayed vague and evasive. After a bit, unable to pin us down on anything, he let us go.

On our initial exploration, we just randomly cruised the waterfront by car, looking for whaling vessels.  Before long, voila, we sighted a harpoon boat inside a tightly packed moorage. But I did not shout "Eureka!", since it did not look like one of the vessels of the Antarctic fleet. Walking around town, we found whale meat for sale in department stores, and whale dishes on restaurant menus.

At some point we encountered a skyscraper which was in fact an observation platform supported by a tall metal endo-skeleton and cloaked in glass. I suggested that we go up and see if we could spot the whaling fleet from a height. It cost a pretty yen, but up we went. Within seconds of my initial scan, I had the reason to drop some more yens into a telescope. What I saw through it made me exclaim, “Hey, Bro! Guess what!"

"What?"

"Take a look for yourself," I said, yielding the telescope to him.

"OMG! It's the Nisshin Maru!!!"

The Nisshin Maru is, in my opinion, the most evil ship in the world bar none. It is the factory mother-ship of the Japanese Antarctic whaling fleet, and the target of our operation. It was tied up at the farthest birth of what looked like a large high-security dock within a mile from the tower.

“Little did the creators of this observation tower know that it would one day serve the anti-whaling cause,” I quipped.

From the tower, we also saw the hotel, and the shopping center one block from the hotel where the rental car was parked.

After a bit, Bruce said, "See that white building on the waterfront? It must be the aquarium. I hear that there are some Taiji-caught dolphins in there."

"Well, well, well," I murmured, while scrutinizing it through the telescope.

"Well what?"

"Check this out. An Antarctic fleet catch boat. I bet the rest of the fleet is there," I said while yielding the telescope to Bruce again.

After exiting the tower, since the Nisshin Maru seemed heavily guarded, we went towards the aquarium to check out the harpoon ship. It was the Yushin Maru, of the Antarctic fleet for sure, but she was there all by herself.

The next day, still wanting for a solution to access the Nisshin Maru, we decided to check out the dolphins in the aquarium, and, to our amazement, the two other harpoon ships were there, all three in naval grey, plus a white fleet tender. All were festooned with colorful manners, giving their ensemble a festive air.

We wanted to go into the aquarium to visit its Taiji-caught dolphins, and to check out its whaling connection, if any. But the entrance fee was exorbitant, so Bruce decided to stay out, saying that it would be less conspicuous if I went in on my own.

After visiting the captive dolphins, all Bottlenose of course, I became heart-sick, and emerged through the aquarium's rear door on to a wide waterfront walk. Right outside of the door was a monument featuring a steel sculpture of a Blue whale, with a plaque bearing an engraving in Japanese and, wonder of wonders, English, which said: "Our gratitude to whales." I should look up a Japanese dictionary for the word "gratitude".

Looking past the monument, I saw the four ships moored right there, two abreast, with the two pairs in tandem. There were unguarded gangplanks leading to the two adjacent to land. I could have walked right aboard either one had I wanted to, but my quarry was the Nisshin Maru.

On the third day, we decided to brave the security dock to recon the Nisshin Maru for the best way to get on board. Because Bruce was too conspicuous, I decided to do it on my own. When I got there, on foot, I saw that the gate was open, with people and vehicles going in and out of it, unchecked. Biting the bullet, I walked right in, as if I owned it.

The dock, was long enough for three ships. There was a Korean ship and a Chinese ship tied in behind the Nisshin Maru, which was the farthest out. I put on a show of taking pictures of the Chinese freighter, which was the one directly behind the Nisshin Maru, in case I was questioned. Of course, when I was standing near the bow of the Chinese ship, I was at the stern of the factory ship, which had painted on its black side amidships, in huge white block letters, the word "RESEARCH". I made a mental note to myself to look up “research” in the Japanese dictionary as well.

Of course, the distinguishing feature of a whaling factory ship is its slipway extending from water level at the large stern opening forward and upward. The slipway is a ramp by which whale carcasses are dragged from the sea on to the main deck to be butchered. I metaphorically slapped myself on my forehead. How better to enter the ship than through the slipway? The only question was whether we should access it by raft or by wet suit. One way or the other, it would be done at night, though the ship would still be lit up like a Christmas tree.

After my Chinese ship subterfuge, I turned my camera at the whaling ship. The dock was crawling with workers in the process of loading the ship. Unfortunately, at that point, I caught the attention of a uniformed guard. He walked straight up to me and asked me what I was doing on the dock. I said that I had a cousin working on the Chinese vessel, and that I was there to take pictures of his ship. I knew the story was full of holes. His next question would probably have been for my "cousin"'s name, and I would have to tell a lie to cover-up a lie. But fate intervened. His cell phone rang and he moved off to one side to answer it. I took the opportunity to calmly walk away.

I walked as fast as possible without running, and got back on to the street unintercepted. The hotel was in the direction of the aquarium, so I proceeded in that direction. At one point, about halfway to the aquarium, I came across a stretch of waterfront where a dozen or so small freighters were tied. I took some random pictures of these ship to show that I was just a “ship-junkie” in case I was question. Sure enough, lo and behold, my progress was blocked by a white van which had passed me from behind. Two plain clothes men came out and ordered me to stop.

One of them, who spoke passable English, asked me straight out why I was taking photos of the Nisshin Maru. So, they did tail me from the dock. I said I was more interested in the Chinese freighter, and freighters in general. He ordered me to hand over my camera, which I did. Good thing that I had already downloaded the photos I had taken the previous days into my computer and had deleted them from the camera. He and his colleague looked through all the pictures I had taken on that day, and indeed there were more freighter pics than the ones of the Nisshin Maru. He asked me why I was interested in freighters. I said that I was considering sailing in one.

"Are you associated with Sea Shepherd?"

“Sea who?”

"Sea Shepherd, the group that harasses our whaling fleet."

“Oh, that group. I've seen them on TV. But that's about it.”

"What about Greenpeace?"

“Greenpeace? It started in my country, but that's about all I know. I'm not a member of it.”

“Why are you in Shimonoseki?”

“I'm a tourist.”

"But why Shimonoseki?"

“Oh, I'm just passing through, from Hiroshima to Nagasaki.”

"What is in Hiroshima and Nagasaki for you?"

“To pay my respects to the war dead.”

“Please show me your passport.”

“I left it in my rental car,” which in fact it wasn't; it was in the hotel, but Bruce was there and my story of us visiting Hiroshima and Nagasaki was just conjured on the spot.

"Where is the car?"

“In the parking garage of a shopping center.”

“Okay, let's go."

He asked his companion to follow us slowly in the white van, and we went off on foot towards the department store maybe 2 kilometers away and one block from the hotel which did not have its own parking facility. While we walked, with the van tailing us, he kept on peppering me with questions. I stayed as close to the truth as possible, including where I was born and where I lived. Many of the questions were repeats, and many were trick questions. I've been called "calm and cool", "unflappable", "stoic", etc., under diverse stressful situations, and all these came into play to keep me afloat. But that was the longest 2 km I had ever walked.

All the while I was saying to myself, "Uh oh, what am I gonna do when we get to the car?"

When we got to the car, I put on a big pretense of looking for my passport, ending with, “I'm very sorry, but now I remember. It is in the hotel.”

I was banking on that he would not call my bluff, but he did. Meanwhile, he used his cell phone to photograph the license plate of my rental car.

"Which hotel?" he said.

“That one,” I said, pointing at it.

“Let's go.”

So off we walked towards the hotel, with the white van again in tow.

To be honest, I was at a loss for a solution and pretty much cast my fate to the wind. My best case scenario was that Bruce had gone out.

When we arrived at the hotel room, and I entered with my key, Bruce was there. The interrogator followed me right in, and I thought that that was it. But then again, fate intervened, for the second time, in the same way. The guy's cell phone rang. He went out to the hall way to answer it. His partner was just coming out from the elevator. Quickly, I whispered to Bruce, "We are tourists going from Hiroshima to Nagasaki to pay respect to the war dead, and intend to stay at Shimonoseki for only a few days." No sooner had Bruce heard it than the guy came back it. He asked Bruce exactly that question, and Bruce answered it correctly with no sign of stress.

Strangely, they seemed more interested in me than in Bruce, and escorted me down to the coffee shop in the lobby to interrogate me for another half an hour, leaving Bruce in the room unmolested. At the end, they could not pin me down and called it quits. Very strangely, my interrogator made me a farewell gift of a pack of Japanese kleenex.

All told, from beginning to end, the whole ordeal lasted upwards of two hours.

As I mentioned in the beginning, I cannot divulge the nature of the undercover operation, nor its outcome. Suffice to say that the whaling fleet departed from Shimonoseki on November 8, and we drove back to the Narita airport for Bruce to take his flight back to Canada.

There is a final bout of stress in this story. The GPS took us through a very convoluted and congested route to the wrong airport - Haneda instead of Narita. We reset the GPS and floored it, while sweating and cursing the whole way. When we finally arrived, Bruce was within 5 minutes of the plane's scheduled departure. The ticket agent had to call the plane for it to wait, and Bruce had to run nearly a mile with his carry on luggage to make it, but he did.

Meanwhile, I turned the car around towards Taiji, but, as I've said before, that was another story.

10. Consummation with Hercules

The drone provided by the Canadian International Conservation Agency (CICA - "see-kah") was an RC helicopter equipped alternatively with a zoomable HD still/video camera by day and an infrared video camera by night.  An on board transmitter would beam the footage frame-by-frame down to a ground based receiver hooked up to a laptop computer on which screen the image at any one split second would be displayed in real time, while at the same time it was recorded in the computer's hard drive.  On the right of the laptop was the joystick by which the drone was controlled, both in flight characteristics as well as the camera functions.  The piloting of the drone was conducted as if the footage on the screen was the view from the cockpit of a real helicopter.  Right now, the laptop was on the hood of a jeep located about a horizontal mile from the drone.  Gripping the joystick was the right hand of one Mark Lee, and dead center on the screen of the laptop was one magnificent male black rhino.

The noon day heat raised such a broad and steady thermal that the drone on low power could just float on it, thus lengthening the duration and range of the flight.  His mission was to conduct a grid-by-grid aerial survey of the rhino population and distribution, and, while at it, monitor the poaching activity, plus, if possible, intervene by direct action, that is, by means of the drone.  For this purpose, it was also equipped with a ten-pack "fire-cracker" release, where the "fire-cracker" would be activated upon release with a twenty-second fuse delay.

In order not to disturb the wildlife nor alert the poachers, Mark maintained a minimum hovering altitude of 300 meters at all times where the quiet sky-blue electric drone would be all but invisible and inaudible.  This minimum height would be observed even when releasing the fire-crackers, where he would aim the camera vertically downward, and release the rocket-shaped fire-cracker when the target area was at screen center.  So far, he had had several occasions to hone this skill in real life poaching situations, and more than one rhino had thus been saved.

Now the drone was at a 45 degree angle above the rhino, and, with the camera aimed down 45 degrees, Mark executed a horizontal 360 degree sweep with the camera set at wide-angle.  

Almost at once, he noticed three ground vehicles parked about 100 meters from the rhino.  There were about a dozen black dots in the vicinity of the vehicles, which in Mark's mind constituted a poaching gang.  

Just one thing out of the ordinary.  There appeared to be a zebra about half way between the rhino and the vehicles, and the zebra appeared to be trotting from the vehicles towards the rhino, with something looking like a baboon sitting on its back.  

Mark stabilized the drone, aimed the camera at the zebra, zoomed in, and realized that it in fact was not a zebra carrying a baboon, but a large horse carrying a small human, a woman to be exact, one with what appeared to be a hunting bow in her hand.  

While sensing the woman's malicious intent in his gut, Mark was puzzled.  This departed markedly from the general MO of a poaching gang, nor that of an anti-poaching patrol.  Nor was he aware of any wildlife biologist backed by a dozen men or more.  If anything, it invoked a scene from the movie Troy, where the Greek coalition army sent Achilles out to do one-on-one battle against Hector.  But still, it did not make full sense.  If this is a trophy hunting party, why would it send out a woman armed only with a bow against a massive rhino full of testosterone, and soon, adrenaline as well?

The woman maintained a steady trot, bearing an off-direct course for a tangential approach to the rhino.  When she reached the closet approach, she stopped the horse.  Mark estimated her distance to the rhino to be 30-40 yards.  He maximum-zoomed the telephoto on her, and, due to the slight vibration, he switched over to "Still", and snapped a dozen still shots of her, at least three of which caught her in profile, two in quarter frontal and one full frontal.

Then, he kicked himself that in his puzzlement, he did not think of repositioning the drone for a fire-cracker release.  Were he to do it now, he would momentarily lose sight of the woman.  But before he could move the drone, if he wanted to, he saw the woman draw her bow, fire off an arrow, draw the bow again and shot again, and a third.  He wide angled the lens, and saw that the rhino had orientated his massive body at the woman and begun a ponderous charge.  The woman shot off another arrow.  And then, her horse reared and threw her on to the ground.  The horse regained his balance, and began to run away, but the woman held him back by the reins which she had retained in her hand.  The rhino continued his charge and was soon on to them.  And in the words that flashed through Mark's mind, she pulled the horse in between the rhino and herself, and "offered him up to the rhino in her own stead".

Before his very eyes, the rhino ran his horn clean through the torso of the horse.  While the two animals were lock in the death struggle, the women ran off 30 yards, and shot another half a dozen arrows into the rhino.  And when the dust had finally settled, the one left standing of the three was the woman.  

Mark zoomed in to her again and snapped a few more still shots, one of which caught her raising her bow above her head at the observing party in triumph.  In some disgust at himself, Mark finished what he had to do.  He aimed the telephoto at the observing party, zoomed it to the max, and snapped another dozen still shots.  To his amazement, a least two of them showed the face of the President of the United States.

11. The smoking gun

Rebecca was seated to the left of the president at the dinner table where she was the guest of honor.  On his right was Jake Hawthorn, and on Rebecca's left was Travis Waltrip.  It goes without saying that the object Travis looked at the most during the dinner was the shiny blonde hair on the back of Rebecca's head, and likewise Jake had the opportunity to study minutely the silver-streak patterns in the well-groomed hair on the back of the president's head.  

The president's official domestic status, according to Rebecca's internet search, was “happily married, with two children, son George 18, and daughter Joanne 16”.  But his eyes, when he gazed into her, said otherwise, not referring to the children.  His advance was blatant, verging on an abuse of power.

“I cannot begin to tell you how awe-struck I am of your amazing feat this afternoon, Ms. Bates.” was his opening line.

“Why, thank you, Mr. President.  I nearly couldn't make it to this dinner because of it.”  Her radiant smile was invisible to Travis, but if he saw it, he would have thought that he had never seen it before in the entire month he had hunted with her, including the night when Achilles was slain.  And Jake, who did see it by rubber-necking, was simply enchanted by its indescribable sensuality.  Of course, the president, who was seeing Rebecca up close for the first time, thought that she smiled like this at all comers all the time.

“Well, if you didn't do it, you wouldn't be at this dinner either,” he said.

“Then I think I did the only thing I could have done to win the honor of sitting next to the world's sexiest man.”

He did his own rubber-necking until he could see Travis behind, not beside, Rebecca, and mock said to him, “Hey Travis, Rebecca says that you're the world's sexiest man!”

While Travis looked stunned, Rebecca's eyes widened. “I beg your pardon, Mr. President! Travis is a sweet guy, but that title belongs to the most powerful man in the world. While sweetness tastes like a lollipop, power, as any lover knows, is the most seductive aphrodisiac, the brandy amongst all beverages.”

“I am powerless under your spell, Ms Bates,” he said with a wicked grin.

“Then I will go for the lollipop.”

“Mr. President, since you're out in the bush here, do you mind staying powerless for just tonight?” Travis managed to squeeze in.

“Now that's a plan. I can have both the lollipop and the brandy on two separate nights! Just that on the second night, I may have to conceal my spell to give the aphrodisiac a chance to work.”

The president looked dumbfounded, but then he said, “Ironically, tonight is the night I won't be having any sleep.”

“And why is that, Mr. President?”

“Let me ask you. Did you get any sleep last night?”

“Of course. Why?” she asked, genuinely puzzled.

“Are you saying that you slept through the eve of your Hercules' magnificent destruction?”

“Oh, that,” she said perfunctorily. “It's just another hunt. Nothing to lose sleep over.” Then, something dawned in her eyes. “Mr. President, are you telling me that you will be hunting a rhino tomorrow?”

"That, plus yours being a hard act to follow."

"It was not preplanned that way, I assure you, Mr. President. It just happened. And something incredible and unforeseen could just as well happen to you tomorrow."

"True enough, I have no idea what will happen, but your coolness under pressure and decisiveness on the spot are both an inspiration. My government can use a thousand of you."

"Are you trying to recruit me into the CIA, Mr. President?"

He laughed.  "No, Ms. Bates, Langley is not within walking distance from the White House."

"You're the first one to know that the walls surrounding the White House is as impregnable as those around the Forbidden Palace of China, Mr. President, or if I may, a woman who has been hysterectomized, no matter how close or how far Langley or anywhere else is."

“In which case maybe I should bring you inside those walls."

"You mean like some kind of intern?"

"I can't imagine an intern doing what you did this afternoon.  No, it'd be somewhere higher up than that."

"I'm sure you're just joking, Mr. President. Based on what little you know about me, which would be based on what you saw me do this afternoon, the only job there I can think of is that of a presidential bodyguard."

"Not necessarily, Ms. Bates, and I know all about you."

"The internet is full of erroneous facts and malicious lies."

"Not just the Internet."

"In any case, Mr. President, I'm too free-spirited to live in an ivory tower."

"Let me think about this.  I'll get back to you on it."

"My goodness, you do look serious."

"Could be, but this is just my default look."

"The look I know so well on TV."

"On TV, I'm usually only half serious."  

"Good one. In any case, I am flattered."

"I'll be in touch, before or after I leave here."

"And when are you leaving here?"

"Day after tomorrow."

  

"So, you're really going to be hunting a rhino tomorrow, aren't you?"

"As inspired by you, Ms. Bates.  And you are welcome to accompany me."

"Oh, no, Mr. President.  I wouldn't want to steal your thunder."

"Then, be the presidential bodyguard, as long as you don't mind using a firearm this time."

"You already have bodyguards, four of them."

"Yes, and they are good, but only against humans.  You will be my bodyguard against a predictably furious rhino named Samson."

"Oh, I know Samson. You know what? I would have chosen him over Hercules if not for the fact that Hercules had bigger balls. But still it will be Samson's magnificent head, not balls, that will be on your presidential wall. My goodness, this really is too exciting to turn down.  I accept, before you change your mind."

“Then I might just get some sleep tonight, as I'm sure you will.”

“I will not be sleeping much tonight, and neither will you, Mr. President.”

At that very moment, Jake happened to be rubber necking, and again became instantly smitten by that incredibly sensual smile.

The next day, Travis led them unerringly to Samson. The hunt went pretty much according to plan, except for one thing. Just when the president was about to pull the trigger of his $5000 Kimber Dangerous Game .416 magnum, a bright flash and a loud bang went off between him and Samson, causing him to fall flat on his back, his rifle discharged, unheard and lying five feet away, strangely pointing at his lower abdomen.  Samson turned and wound himself up ponderously into a gallop.  And while Travis was momentarily paralyzed by the unprecedented turn of events, the rapid fire of five shots rang out, and Samson dutifully bit the dust. 

The gun that was smoking was none other than the one in the hands of Rebecca Bates.

12. The honey trap

While the president's security detail rushed around with little coordination looking for the source of what they thought to be a flash-bang grenade, Rebecca marched calmly towards the fallen president, while ordering Travis to check on the rhino. When she reached him, the most-powerful-man-in-the-world had awkwardly regained his feet, though his own misfired and sidelined rifle still lay forlornly on its side in the dust, apparently cursing its own ill fate.

“Are you alright, Mr. President?” inquired Rebecca as if he had merely snubbed his toe.

“What the hell happened?” he asked, looking dazed and confused.

“Apparently, it was a stun grenade.”

“How did it got there?”

“Must be from a launcher somewhere. Your men are looking for it as we speak. Meanwhile, I suggest that you resume a low profile until your men have secured the area.”

He scrambled into a depression in the ground and Rebecca entered in a more dignified fashion. Out of observation by anyone, they fell into each others arms and kissed passionately.

There came the sound of a gun shot from the direction of the fallen Samson. Moments later, Travis came back, and was rendered momentarily speechless by the sight of Rebecca in the president's arms. Having regained his composure, he blurted out, “He was lung-shot once, gut-shot twice and rump-shot twice. I finished him off with a heart shot. Would have been faster and cleaner had I used a brain shot, but it would have ruined the trophy.”

Instead of thanking him, Rebecca said, “Keep this to yourself, Travis. The official story is that the president killed Samson himself with a single heart shot while Samson was charging at me.”

The two men exchanged surprised then comprehending glances, both heads slowly nodding.

At about the same time, the drone that dropped the “fire-cracker” power-lifted itself up to 2000 feet, then flew back to the jeep of Dr. Mark Lee unobserved, during which time he replayed in his mind almost in disbelief the unexpected drama he witnessed in real time on his laptop screen just moments before.

After a short lunch, Rebecca, Travis and the president walked to the downed rhino for their photo op. The president's men had already righted Samson's carcass so that it was crouching on all four, with its head resting on a rock. Most of the pictures contained all three of them, but there were a few with the president, and only the president, posing behind the lifeless hulk.

It was well past sundown when a security agent rapped on the president's tent, announcing, "Mr. President, Ms. Rebecca Bates here to see you."

"Show her in."

Rebecca appeared in a loose-fitting blouse, knee-length skirt, sandals, and a stylish hand bag which she placed carefully on the presidential desk. Without ado, they fell into each other's arms.  The lanterns hanging from the ceiling, which they kept burning for an air of decency, cast no shadows on the tent walls.  The security detail, according to protocol, kept a respectful distance.  Their grunts and moans were audible to no one else.

The cloud and rain, as the Chinese so poetically euphemized it, came and went, leaving their bodies moist and steaming.

"It was wonderful, Mr. President, but it will be our first and last time.  Once you have re-entered your forbidden Palace, it will be business as usual, for you and for me."

"I wouldn't be too sure of that," he said, almost cockily.

"How could we..."

"Hush.  I have a plan for you."

When she returned to her tent, it was past midnight.  As soon as she had it zipped up, she opened her handbag and retrieved a concealed video camera.

13. The most immoral of them all

In his days of educational outreach - late 90s and early 2000s - i.e. before the school system was taken over by the hunting lobby, Mark had spoken at dozens of elementary and secondary schools, other than colleges and universities. He preferred to teach with questions more than answers. Whenever he spoke in an elementary school, he would ask the children this question:

"We all know that humans kill animals, and do so for a variety of reasons - in self-defense, for safety, for food, for clothing, for profit, for vanity and for fun. Now I want to repeat these reasons one by one, and I want you to raise your hands once, and only once, when you come across the reason that you find is immoral, or the most immoral of all."

The result is that in all elementary schools he had spoken at without a single exception, the vast majority of the children voted for "killing for fun" as the most immoral reason for killing an animal.

"Fun" in adult lingo is "recreation". And Recreational Hunting is the formal term.

Back in 2007, while on CARE-3, he was in Allentown PA when local activists asked for his assistance in opposing a new bow-hunting scheme within the nearby Trexler Nature Preserve.

It was the dying wish of General Harry Clay Trexler, who created the Preserve in 1906, that no hunting be allowed within the preserve. But after honoring him for exactly 100 years, the local government announced that due to a natural "population explosion" of the white-tail deer within and surrounding the preserve, its ecology and that of the surrounding areas had been seriously damaged, and thus the deer population needed to be culled by some 50%. As if by magic, there came the cavalry, in the form of a hoard of bow hunters who promptly stepped forward to gallantly volunteered their services to the community, free of charge of course.

Except for the resistance put up by several dedicated local activists, the public had no comment, and the hunt scheme became fact. On opening day of the hunt, several activists, three women and a teenager, led Mark into the preserve, on foot and unarmed, amidst the teaming bow hunters, both male and female. They received many glances and stares ranging from suspicious to hostile, but what they themselves saw was an eye-opener.

Were he blindfolded and driven by jeep into the preserve, and taken for a short walk of no more than 100 yards from the parking lot, then have the blindfold removed and asked what he was looking at, he would have answered that he was in a farm. Acres of forest had been cut down and plowed flat, and row upon row of deer clover had been planted in its place.

"Those who understand the Compensatory Rebound Effect, some hunters included," wrote Mark into his field journal, "know that with an over-abundance of food, deer would maximize their reproductive rate. Instead of no-fawn and singlet, they would have twins and triplets, resulting indeed in a high deer population, which was exactly what the hunters want.

"Bow-hunters are very aggressive in forcing their way into potential hunting areas, especially where the discharge of fire-arms is prohibited, including urban parks like Trexler, and within the urban area itself, even in people's backyards.

"It is the general strategy of hunters to first cultivate a high deer population by means of food-plots, then claim deer over-population, then offer themselves as saviors of deer-ravaged communities. The truth of the matter is that the whole thing is initiated by the bow-hunters stemming basically from their bloodlust, and developed in collusion with the hunter-friendly politicians who are often themselves hunters and put in office by the hunting industry in the first place. After all, the govern knows about the Trexler food-plot, and issued the hunting permits.

"General Trexler, even a top level military man, would weep."

But that is not all. Mark took pictures of the Trexler food plot and submitted them to Allentown's local newspaper, and spoke at length to its reporter, who actually interviewed him at the preserve when he was there, but the article that came out the following day did not make a single mention of the deer clover plantation, and did not use Mark's photos, but instead glorified a female hunter for being the first to bag a magnificent buck.

He had always disapproved of bow hunting, but this incident intensified the disapproval into contempt. Often, when he debated hunters, they would hide behind "hunting for food" as a moral justification, which could excuse some true food-hunters. But it could never excuse bow hunters. If it is purely for food, they would be using a scoped rifle rather than a bow. There is no denying that bow-hunters hunt mostly for "sport", for which, to Mark, there was no excuse.

In 2009, he founded the Global Anti-Hunting Coalition (GAHC).

In early 2010, the group No Negotiations named him "The Best All Around Activist", citing: "Whether protecting tiger reserves in India, risking his life in undercover investigations of the illegal trade in endangered species parts; challenging any and all forms of hunting; hosting a radio show; writing visionary books on science, philosophy, and cosmology; embarking on marathon coast-to-coast Compassion for Animals Road Expeditions (CARE tours) covering dozens of US states (launching his seventh tour in March 2010), or mobilizing scientific research to awaken the complacent to the immanent dangers of irreversible ecological crisis, Mark Lee is raising awareness, effectively campaigning, and blazing new trails. In 2009, Lee launched the Global Anti-Hunting Coalition, one that 'can bring the weight of the entire world to bear on the local governments bullying the grassroots activists.' For anyone skeptical of what one person can do alone or in strategic alliance with others, or what can be accomplished without the large bankrolls such as HSUS commands (and squanders), look no further. For Lee shows what great things can blossom from intelligence, independence, courage, and unqualified commitment to the rights of nature, free from the predatory violence of Homo sapiens. The story Lee tells, and the outcome for which he fights, is not a zero-sum tragedy that pits one element of nature against another, however, but achieves a harmonization of life forces. 'If we win,' Lee says, 'we will have elevated the quality of Humanity, and brought about a major quantum leap in human social evolution.'"

In July, 2010, at the Animal Rights National Conference in Washington DC, where he was a regular speaker, he was honored with the Henry Spira Grassroots Activist Award "for his contribution to animal liberation".

14. Lethal viral video

When President Timothy Gardner returned to the Oval Office, the first thing of interest that met his eyes was the copy of Washington Post sitting squarely on his desk. He didn't have to open the paper to see what was meant for him to see, since the article was on Page A1, top half. The first part of the article that caught his eyes was the big photograph of him crouching in front of Samson, his .416 magnum Kimber cradle in his arms, sporting his victorious grin. Next was the headline: [President Gardner bags his rhino and saves a maiden with one shot].

Of course it raised an uproar in the animal advocacy and environmental communities, but the hunting community hailed him as “the greatest president since Theodore Roosevelt”, and that was all that registered in his mind.

Unfortunately, for him, their adulation and his celebration were both short-lived.

“You've got to see this, Mr. President," said Jane Hodges, his executive secretary.

"What is it, Jane?" said the president, lazily.

"It is a video, sir, one just launched this morning on the internet, and it has already gone viral."

"A video of what?"

"Of your rhino hunt, sir. I have sent you a copy of it by email."

“Our video hasn't been released yet.”

“I don't think it was taken by your crew. It was taken from the air.”

“From the air?”

“Yes, sir.”

How viral is viral?”

“Over a million viewings, and it's been only two hours since its launching.”

“By whom?”

“I don't know, sir, it was a nickname – 'Anti-13'.”

“Where can I see it?”

“Almost anywhere on the internet. You could try Youtube, and search for 'Gardner rhino hunt'; it'll come up. It's also among the lead items in Yahoo News. It is also widely shared on Facebook, and Twitter is full of links leading to it. By the way, numerous newspapers and TV stations have called for interviews and comments.”

“Fine, I'll check it out.”

“Yes, sir.”

He went to Youtube, and sure enough the video was there, now with 1.5 million hits. It's length was about fifteen minutes - from the time he began to anchor himself to shoot, to the flash-bang, to his falling flat on his back, to Rebecca firing her five shots, to Rebecca and him passionately kissing, to Travis executing his coup de gras. The comments alone numbered over ten thousand, mostly calling him a coward and a liar.

He sat back, stunned, cold sweat drenching his shirt.